Stale Revere
by ElvenMaia
Summary: All his life, Celegorm looked up to Maedhros; strove to be just like him one day. Now, seeing Maedhros so weakened after Angband terrified him. He wanted the old Maedhros back, but what if the brother he knew was gone forever? No slash. Celegorm POV.
1. Stale Revere

**Disclaimer: I do not own anything if Tolkien's**

**Rated **for wounds.

_Telkyo/Celegorm POV_

Stale Revere

_Dor Daedeloth— assuming a fortress was built there after Fingolfin's inspection of Angband— the spring after Maedhros's rescue..._

I looked over across the rolling landscape below. Up here on the battlements the wild wind whipped through my hair. Vibrant greens and towering trees stood in solemn vigil about the clearing, and I deeply inhaled the fresh scent of pending rain. It was a perfect day, yet I found no joy in it like I usually did.

The clash of steel sounded in the courtyard below. Arms folded and disposition bitter, I turned to watch my brother spar with Fingon for the second time since he was able to walk around. He still limped rather heavily and could barely move his right arm without crying out in pain, but he was at least strong enough to wield a light sword.

I corrected myself. He never cried out in pain. Not my big brother. Not ever.

Scoffing, I flipped my hair out of my eyes and watched the two figures on the courtyard below. At least the old Nelyo wouldn't have cried out. The old Nelyo was strong, stronger than anyone I ever knew. He was courageous, a leader, undefeated. I looked down to the scrawny, hunched, and limping form of Nelyo now as he successfully—albeit weakly— parried away a simple thrust from Fingon. Fingon smiled broadly and gently patted his shoulder, obviously trying to pretend he didn't see Nelyo's shudder.

I hated it when he did that. Each time something flashed in his eyes. Something dark that reminded me of what had happened. What had reduced him to yelling from pain.

"_Ai, gently, gently now," murmured Makalaurë to himself. _

_I stared at Maitimo's disfigured arm. This was not right this was all one horrible nightmare, he was still in there—_

_He screamed through gritted teeth. His eyes flashed with a something dark. A memory I'm guessing. _

_Makalaurë winced as he tried to be more careful in removing the bloody bandages from his mutilated arm. _

_This was wrong. So, so wrong. Maitimo never screamed. Not when he had snapped a leg after falling from the mountain trail we had been hunting on, not when he had been stabbed through the gut and still managed to kill off the rest of the orcish ambush party. _

_I knew he could take the pain. I had seen him through worse. Yet he still chose to yell. _

_"Why do you do that?" I asked, appalled. "You are no longer... there."_

_He looked at me with those deep grey eyes. Changed. _

_"Would you deny me a small comfort?" _

I had been chilled to the very core. He willingly chose... I could not understand it. His pride was utterly dead.

This wasn't the Nelyo I knew. The big brother I always looked up to, imitated, followed. The big brother I dreamt of living up to one day. The Maitimo I knew could hold his own in an onslaught of evil beasts and defy the mightiest with one hand. Now all he had left was one hand.

This new Maitimo... I did not like him at all. Where was my big brother? My idol, my commander, my strength, my mentor? _What have you done to him Morgoth? Where did you put him and how can I get him back?_ But it was vain. I knew he was gone forever. My heart wept. I _needed_ him. Needed him to show me once again that it _is_ possible; fulfilling our father's great destiny.

Maitimo was no longer someone to be looked up to. Not this Maitimo who struggled to hold a decent defense while he had previously been able to terrify legions with his skill and precision. Not this Maitimo who screamed through the night, or jerked at any sudden movement. Who trembled when the lights were put out, who— who gave up the kingship of his own people.

Anger washed through me at the very thought. I didn't mind so much Maitimo's disabilities; wounds would heal. But now Maitimo was changed. He was— I struggled for the correct word but did not find it—just different. Different in the way of character. _He lacks his confidence,_ I thought bitterly as I scowled at the stupid sheepish smile on Nelyo's face at Fingon's praise.

I tried to understand him. I really did. I thought he knew everything. _Now he really does,_ I thought darkly as Nelyo stumbled over his limp under a stronger swing from Fingon.

But to give up kingship? The very pride of the House of Fëanor? I was appalled to say the least; furious to describe it better. I had talked to Makalaurë. He had simply shaken his head with an irritating half smile. '_Temper, temper, Telkyo. And I thought Caranthir was the worst. Do not worry. Nelyo knows what's best.' _

Coward is all I could think. Nelyo was a _coward_. I could not be proud of the fact that he had not given in to Morgoth. That he did not become a thrall like the Vala had wanted. That was expected. Nelyo was strong. He could overcome anything. Or so I had thought.

Morgoth had reduced my brother to several things. A handicap? Yes, the endurance of the body could not be helped. But a coward? Never never never. Not in my darkest dreams. But here it was before my very eyes. No crown graced his russet head. I could no longer find his pride either. So I lost mine in him. He had lost it at the very moment he had bowed to Uncle Nolofinwë and pledged the people to him. My chest burned at the very thought and I angrily bared my teeth.

Nelyo collapsed under another one of Fingon's strikes. Fingon quickly rushed over and helped him up carefully, like one wrong jostle would shatter him entirely.

I shook my head vigorously and pulled at my hair. _No no no no this was all wrong! Nelyo was strong he could fight! He— he—_

_He is not the same_, interrupted a dark voice.

I glared back down at the weakling on the courtyard below. I had a very sudden and violent urge to test him.

_This is all a dream. He can fight he has not broken he is better he is—_

I stormed down the battlement stairs. The real Maitimo was hiding in there somewhere I knew— I wanted— I needed to see. _He_ was my confidence. I do not know what how I would live without it. If _he_ could not do this, _Maitimo_, the unbreakable, how more so could I? I feared failing my father beyond anything else.

I confronted him, blade bared. "Fight me."

Fingon's protest was cut off by Neylo's slow nod as he lifted the sword.

He began to circle me warily. My heart sank. The usual spark of mischief was gone. There was no longer the proud tilt to his head that scoffed at my dreams of one day being able to live up to him. He didn't handle the blade as if he had already won; everything I loved.

He administered that shy smile and I struck first, lashing out in just the way he had taught me, way back; in a different world. I pivoted gracefully and brought the blade back around after he parried the first. I could almost feel his hand covering mine that was closed about the hilt of a sword. His hot breath on my neck as he murmured advice and his graceful movements as he demonstrated a technique flawlessly.

Faster and faster I struck. _Come on Maitimo, I know your in there, come out, come out!_

He backpedaled, throwing up his sword to keep himself intact. I slashed to the right, then the left, right left right left right—_Come out Maitimo!_

"_Telkyo_! Telkyo _stop_!"

His eyes were wide with panic now. Fingon's frenzied shouts were lost on deaf ears. My heart beat faster. _It could not be true, Maitimo was not gone—_ Tears collected in my eyes.

I pivoted sharply on my heel and smashed the flat of my blade on his thigh, right above the knee in a move he had long ago used on me to win a match. The blade made a disturbingly odd sound as it bounced violently off his leg, the impact tearing the weapon out of my hand. He collapsed with a cry from Fingon.

_Nononono_. Perspiration drenched my forehead. I have never won like that. _He is gone he is g—_

Nelyo cut through his breeches around the area I had hit him. A dark purple blotch had already marked the skin, except the spot was unusually... geometrical.

Nelyo looked up at me, teeth bared in a grotesque grin. The shimmer of triumphant mischief suddenly appeared but it was dark and made me shiver. Suddenly the shy smile appealed to me more to this. It was then I realized, he hadn't cried out. The flash of memory didn't make him shudder.

"Findekano would you be so kind to fetch the healer? It seems Telkyo has found a piece of metal in my leg that we had overlooked and I would like to have it out immediately."

His eyes were trained on mine. The grey depths were harsh and swam with chaos but concealed a cleverness that could just as easily be classified as madness. I was thoroughly disturbed, but could not tear my eyes away from his. They bored inside me and perceived what I could not say.

He finally looked down and gently prodded the nearly black bruise on his thigh. I felt a strong compulsion to say something, but didn't. When he finally looked up, he spoke:

"Forgive me, Telkyo," he said simply. "You must wait for his return. He may be broken but I will not let him die. Do not give up on me just yet."

He rose to his feet and limped away.

I swallowed thickly and raked a hand through my hair. I knew who '_he_' was. '_He_' was the old Nelyo.

'_He may be broken but I will not let him die.'_

_'Do not give up on me just yet.'_

I turned and ran. _Come back..._

oOoOoOo

Hear me out. Celegorm is not cruel or insane. He simply really looked up to Nelyo and to see him so weak really terrified him.

Thanks for RandR! It is much appreciated.


	2. Part2

**Part 2**

_About an hour later..._

Taking a deep breath, I approached the room. Fingon was standing outside the closed door wringing his hands. His eyes flicked over to me as I came up but they quickly returned to the ground as he began fiddling with his hair. I should have figured Findekáno would be here.

Without thinking I spoke. "Why are you so worried?"

He looked back at me with a measure of reproach. "Your brother," he said bluntly. "Has a piece of metal in his leg."

I studied my boots. Perhaps that had sounded rather harsh.

I said nothing and settled down on the bench beside the door. Tense silence followed, Findekáno obviously straining to hear what was going on behind the door where Nelyo's leg was being operated on.

I wished he would say something, anything just to break the suffocating silence. Then again what would he say after what had happened? '_Thank you for attacking Nelyo and hitting him in a fit of rage. Now we know the exact location of the plate in his leg from the great big bruise you gave him!' Wonderful Telkyo, wonderful!_

Findekáno nearly jumped when the door cracked open, the healer's assistant slipping out and softly clicking it shut behind her. Fingon looked longingly at the door but gave his full attention to the young maid in front of him.

"Everything went well," she said in a low voice after a polite inclination of her head. Her brow was furrowed in distress, evidentially from what she had seen. It was very difficult to scar an elven body but Maitimo had many. "It was larger than we anticipated and had to open the skin a bit more than we would have liked but he will be... well."

Fingon nodded seriously, thanking the young healer then glancing over at me when she had disappeared down the corridor. He had guessed why she suddenly seemed skittish.

We walked into the room. A wide smile spread on Fingon's face. Maitimo turned his head to the side and blinked blearily, eyes glazed and his thickened russet curls sprawled over the pillow. The healer in the corner of the room finished washing his hands and brushed shoulders with Fingon before leaving.

"He refused the sleeping draught. Thought you might have wanted to know," he said in a low voice. His troubled eyes gave Maitimo a last glance before he too took leave of the room.

oOo

Nelyo's here! I had known he could not have been gone. I knew nothing could defeat him!

"_Telkyo wait!"_

_Maglor was not even there. _

_I barged into the tent and was not prepared for what met my eyes. _

_"He's alive!" said Findekáno in a rush of breath. _

Are you sure Findekáno?!

I _looked over Maitimo and approached the bedside. _Nononono. _My hand hovered over the thick woolen covers. _This isn't real this is a dream, just a dream...

_He was so thin... so pale... But what bothered me most was his hand. Oh his beloved hand that enveloped mine when he taught me the art of swordsmanship, the use of throwing knives, and most importantly archery. The hand that clasped my shoulder on the eve of battle. The hand that represented his strength, glory, power._

_It was gone. _

_The strong scent of blood hung in the air and I tore wild eyes away from Nelyo. _

_Shaking my head I ran out of the tent, Findekáno calling after me. I was only glad he hadn't been awake to see me run. _

oOo

Nelyo's eyes met mine. They were wondering, questioning my presence. They drifted back to Findekáno who had fixed a saddened glare on him that had formed after the healer had revealed that Nelyo refused to be put to sleep. It puzzled me, really. Made me wonder if he was addicted to pain somehow.

Fingon was not straightforward. Not like me. He approached the bedside and sat down. Nelyo's eyes came back to me and stayed there. _Doesn't he know it's embarrassing to stare so obviously?! _

"How are you feeling Nelyo?" It was a pathetic attempt to break the tension but Fingon had always been one to dislike conflict. He was probably questioning himself whether it was a good idea for me to be in here with Nelyo at all, or at least that is what I perceived from his furtive glances.

"Better." His eyes did not stray from me and I fidgeted uncomfortably. He finally looked away. "Help me up, Findekáno, if you will."

When he was cushioned comfortably, I grimaced. _He cannot even sit up himself,_ I thought with an ache. _He did just have an operation,_ the other side chided.

"You were awake the whole time," I stated. Fingon's eyes snapped to me like I had said something wrong but I paid him no mind. I didn't need him to fence me in like a mother hen. Pain lanced through my heart. I vowed not to think of the word '_mother_' anymore.

"Yes. Does that bother you?" Maitimo has his head tilted to the side as his left hand fiddled with the wrapping around his right. I grimaced again and didn't answer for a time.

"I wasn't the one being cut open," I said finally. "If you wish to feel more pain than is necessary, then I suppose that is up to you." My boots seemed very interesting today.

I could feel Fingon's disapproving gaze on me but I continued to ignore him.

"Experience taught me to fear unawareness more than pain," he said by way of explanation.

I suppose it did. I didn't know what to say to that.

Several beats passed and he cocked his head to the side. "Are you going to tell me why you're angry with me, or do you want me to guess?" My head snapped up to him. _Straightforward, just like me._ I didn't know whether I wanted to hug him or cry, but my expression remained cold and neutral as always.

"I'm not angry with you Nelyo."

"No, no, I suppose you're not," he said seriously. It was really rather strange considering I had just struck him with my blade earlier. The walk I had taken afterwards had helped me clear my mind. There weren't many trees in Dor Daedeloth, but the fresh air had helped filter the rage. At least, it appeared as rage to others. If conflicting emotions were visible, I would have looked like a hailstorm in that moment.

Maitimo's eyes became far away as he bowed his head to study his hands. Well; hand. "You are ashamed of me."

I swallowed thickly, taken aback by the statement and the easy confidence in which he had spoken it. I let my cursed golden hair slide off my shoulders to hide my face, for I was unsure if I could remain neutral much longer.

Fingon listened silently in the corner, eyes downcast and hands clasped neatly in front of him like the perfect child he had always been. He really irked me sometimes. Suddenly I wished he wasn't in the room with us.

Shaking my head, I began to protest. "No, Nelyo. I—"

"_Don't lie to me Telkyo!_" he yelled suddenly, his hair bouncing around his broad shoulders as his head shot up to glare at me. I was so stunned that I had taken a step back. "I have been living a lie long enough. I will not bare a second more of this."

Fingon began to intervene. "Maitimo, maybe we should continue this later when you're—"

Both me and Nelyo turned a smoldering glare on him and he shrunk back to silence. I knew Nelyo hated being called that, and I hated being controlled, especially by Findekáno, and especially right now.

"Findekáno. Please leave." Maitimo said coldly.

Banishing his hurt expression, Findekáno pushed out of the room.

Maitimo's eyes came back to me. As suddenly as his outburst, the hardness in his eyes melted and they became haunted and sad. I quickly turned away. I could not face him like this. If I looked into his eyes too long I would see much more than I would want to know. He continued to stare beckoning, challenging me to dare and dream what was in his mind.

But then the hailstorm came rushing back. Maitimo was weak. Maitimo was a coward. Maitimo had broken the kingship— the pride of the House of Fëanor. He had broken my respect for him. He let down our father. That angered me beyond anything else. The hailstorm broke loose and nearly so did the floodgates of my eyes.

"_Do you even care?_" I spat scornfully. "When father died do you think he just expected to be forgotten; his Oath to fade away like it never happened?! Does the honor of our House mean _nothing_ to you? The Maitimo I knew would never let Fëanor down. Wouldn't let our people down. Wouldn't let our family—_us_—down." Nelyo's eyes glazed over as if he was seeing nothing but I knew he could hear me. "When father died he left his legacy up to you. And you _failed_ him. The moment you gave up that crown—"

"Telkyo." His voice was small and soft and made me freeze in my frenzied tracks. "I cannot lead these people. Have you seen me? Have you _really_ taken a good look?" He spread his arms, gesturing to the hundreds of scars that littered his fair skin under the tunic for emphasis. "Who would want me as their king? Surely not the Noldor. Having me after someone like Fëanor..." The way he said our father's name left a question about Nelyo's true feelings for Fëanor. "Tell me Telkyo, if you cannot even bear me as a brother, how do you think a mighty and noble people such as the Noldor will bear me as a king?"

The question left me reeling_. I hadn't—meant— I _

I fumbled for a thought but my world had been flipped upside down. I felt the sudden urge to fall to my knees and beg him forgiveness. But I could not deny him. He was right.

He had been studying me grimly, watching my emotions play out like a map in my eyes.

"But t-he Oath..." I stammered, still stunned.

At this Nelyo squeezed his eyes closed and took a shuddering breath. "I do not want to be a monster, Telkyo. Not more than I already am." His eyes remained cast downwards as he traced several scars running up and down and across his arms. When he looked up again his eyes were glimmering with tears. Dark, hulking shapes wreathed in flickering red were reflected in his troubled eyes. They were filled with bone-deep regret. '_I am a murderer'_, they seemed to say.

I looked down. I felt as if the Oath had somehow atoned for that, but it didn't. The incident at Alqualondë had not left me unaffected; I simply refused to think of it. Fulfilling the Oath; that is what was important.

When he was finally able to compose himself, Nelyo's eyes were filled with a new light. A grim determination of sorts, though it seemed rather haunted.

"You are ashamed of me, Telkyo. Because I hate the Oath. I hate it with every part of me that isn't already reserved for Morgoth himself."

I smashed my fist into the wall, but it wasn't hard enough to break it. _How could you Nelyo?! How could you...?_! That was it. My breaking point.

"Goodbye _Maitimo_." I whirled on my heel to leave the room. His gentle tone made me freeze involuntarily, irking me even further.

"Try not to hate me forever Telkyo. Maybe, one day, you will find it in that heart of yours to love me again," stubborn tears threatened to brim and stream down my face. "Just remember this; _I will never be the same_."

I ran out of the room. I wanted to run and and run far, far away. I wanted to disappear forever. I wanted this encounter to be just one great, terrible nightmare—

I skidded to a stop in front of Fingon's stern face, his arms crossed and having no intention of letting me pass. I yanked on the reins of my temper to keep it in check, but it still fought for total control. He had obviously listened in on our conversation.

Fingon began to speak.

"Have you _ever_ stopped to _think_? To maybe try and understand that he has a reason for all that? Have you ever stopped to _consider_...? He's not invincible Telkyo. Everyone has their limits. Can you not just be happy he managed to remain sane? Can you not rejoice in the fact your beloved brother is still yet _alive_? Have you ever thought of simply loving him for being your brother?"

I simply pushed past him and ran, hot tears beginning to fall rapidly. _He's not coming back..._

oOoOoOo

I hope y'all enjoyed my attempt to get into Celegorm's head. :P Feedback is much appreciated. Thanks for reading :)

If y'all enjoyed this, I suggest maybe taking a look at my two other stories that are shorter but rather similar to this one. "Complete" is a peek at Maedhros' perspective, and "You Live, But Are You Alive?" is in the perspective of an angsty Maglor. :) Thanks again!


	3. Part3

**Part 3**

_A few years later..._

Palatable tension was in the room. The air was thick; impermeable, like a dream where you felt the danger in the very atmosphere, but are powerless to move, or do anything at all.

Dim candlelight accompanied the tinkling of silverware on plates. The silence was a cloak. No one made an effort to rise their eyes from their meal.

This is why I hated coming. Makalaurë insisted it was for my own good but the overnights with Maedhros and Maglor almost always ended in uncomfortable excuses for departure to solitude. The suffocating tension was one thing, but the very sight of my brother Nelyo and the dark mysteries in his eyes were another entirely.

Nelyo sat at the head of the table, leaning back in the high-backed chair, his food untouched, chin in hand and a conflict in his eyes. It was only a shadow of what darkness used to dwell there, years before, but it troubled me nonetheless; it meant he was remembering. Remembering something he ought not to be. I wondered if the darkness in his eyes had truly faded or if time had taught him to hide it better.

Makalaurë raised his head and cast a weary glance to Nelyo's untouched plate as if it was something he regularly had to deal with. I pitied Makalaurë, for out of all of us, he was the one—besides Findekáno, I added almost bitterly— who had stayed by Maedhros through it all.

Maedhros was haunted, yet he had a certain air of hardness about him. Maybe he used it as a sort of protection, but it gave him the impression of a brooding disaster waiting to happen. And I knew he was. One wrong word could sent him into tempest, while at other times and other words could leave him wide-eyed and teary, like an elfling who had been struck.

Makalaurë knew this and threaded his words cautiously now. My pity turned to admiration for his unyielding patience.

"Is the food not to your liking, brother?"

Nelyo's eyes cleared somewhat and he sat up. "I would not know," he said, keeping his words short and just a tad shy of sounding terse.

I looked back down to his untouched plate. _I suppose you don't,_ I noted truthfully to myself with an inward sigh.

Makalaurë opened his mouth as if wanting to urge him to eat, but a glance at Nelyo's absent gaze told him he should better remain quiet.

I laid down my utensil and bit my lip with a stern look to Maglor. He shuddered in a breath and pressed his lips together, glancing at Nelyo again and giving the smallest shake of his head.

The tense silence stretched on.

I was tired of this. Really, really tired of this. I hated simply sitting here, pretending like my disapproving presence and Nelyo's lifeless one, both of them more grating on each other than forcing them to harmonize as Makalaurë intended, was for the better of our relationship.

_I could not—will not— continue to waste my time like this_, I thought in a flash of defiance. Either something changed or I left.

"I do hope you are feeling well," I said with an edge.

His eyes snapped up to me, too much of the ever-swimming grey irises visible and reminding me of the chaotic waver of Ithil when observed from underwater. My heart clenched and I grit my teeth. Here it was. A trigger.

He absently wet his lips and bit the lower one out of habit, his teeth right in line with the white crescent scar left from the skin being broken too deeply, too many times.

He was trying. I could see it in his eyes. He was trying so, so hard, but I felt the horror rolling off him in waves. His eyes skittered like a nervous horse and I could almost see the cloying mirages of insanity that he so desperately tried to stand his ground against.

He abruptly stood and pushed the chair away with the back of his knees, the disturbing screech of the chair scraping across the floor shattering the invisible shackles draped and twined about everything in the room.

Makalaurë's eyes shone with some unintelligible mix of emotion that somehow expressed his reluctant conclusion of '_leave him be. It is best for now._'

"Excuse me," he said in a quiet voice as he struggled for control. He turned on his heel and began walking swiftly out.

Reserve rose within me. Something changes or I leave. I refuse to endure this any longer.

I clamp my hand on his elbow and he freezes, his muscles twitching to break free and run. _Much like I run,_ I thought with a sharp pang of recognition. No matter what half-truths and falsities I told myself, there was no denying that he was my brother.

Maglor's lips form half a shout and his frightened eyes tell me what I had just done was something worth regretting. As they usually were. _That is the problem with me. I can never get it right. Nelyo can. Nelyo—used to be able to, whatever it was. _

Nelyo blinked rapidly, stiff as a bowstring.

"Telkyo?" His voice wavered, as if unsure.

And in that moment, I pitied him. And maybe from that pity came a bout of understanding. What it must be like to see things of the past? How can one live with the reeling knowledge he might not even be able to trust his own mind?

I knew no details of what Morgoth had done to my brother, but I had seen the aftermath, all laid out on his very skin like a pattern on a tapestry, as each told a story. I suppose I had never really thought of the gaping wound that had been cut into his mind. I had never really been able to fathom it—never wanted to, really— but now, as I saw a little piece of this new, unknown horror, I suddenly began to understand.

I let go of his elbow and unsheathed my sword with a flourish; I never took it off.

I felt more than saw the look of absolute horror and grudging disbelief coming from Maglor. If there had been anything worse than what I had already dared, I had just done it now.

"_Fight_, Nelyo! _Fight!_"

"_Telkyo!_"

Maedhros looked at me uncomprehendingly. I flipped the blade over and held out the hilt. Makalaurë fidgeted nervously on the other side of the table. Nelyo reached for it with shaking fingers. They brushed the length of the hilt with careful reverence and caution. He made a loose fist around it and I felt a grim smile tugging on my lips but steeled my neutrality.

The first thing I knew was his hand tightening around the hilt. The blade had been pulled from my hands with a glint of steel, and my hand had barely had enough time to shoot to the knife strapped to my belt before a sharp pain exploded in my thigh, right above my knee. I collapsed with a strangled cry. The clatter of a blade on the wood floor deafened me and I winced. He had used the move.

Maedhros' imposing shadow towered over me and I slowly lifted my head. His eyes did not shift and swim any longer. He raised an eyebrow that scorned me a fool. I was immediately thrown back in our childhood, back into Aman by the familiar gesture I had not seen since then.

"Just checking for metal," he said, his voice steady and dead-panned. The statement was meant to be humorous in a grim manner, but our eyes had met before he pivoted on his heel, and I had read the heartfelt thanks written there.

After that, I simply stared uncomprehendingly after his retreating back.

Maglor crouched down near me and caressed my sharply smarting leg. He poked the large bruise already forming there— none-too-gently I might add— as if reprimanding me. But I would not regret it. Awe touched my countenance, bringing a soft, knowing smile to Maglor's face. _He did it._

The emotions I had connected to that simple technique were recalled from last time I used it on him, and a new perspective became known to me as they were remodeled.

I recalled the dark silhouettes and chilling energy around Nelyo, and realized something.

My blind resolve to search for my own motivational needs flipped to begin to reach the subject of why Nelyo was unable to provide me with what I longed for— what he lacked. Just like I lacked something of his. He had been reduced to a thrall of the Greatest Enemy, and yet he had not. He had always been my big brother, and yet when he came back, when his weakness became known to my thirsting desire to fulfill—to be good enough for my father—he had not. I remained sane, he had not. Our half-blood uncle had become King, yet he had not. I had tried my hardest to carry the legacy of Fëanor, yet he had not— not in the way I had. But still, he remained greater than me. I did not envy him for it. I clung to his strength; fed off it. Because if _he_ could be great, then so could I.

Nelyo has always been here. In my heart as a role model and in my blood as my brother. Even away in Angband that part of him had always been with me.

Later I recognized my passion, my burning desire for him to succeed, to continue to be great, was love.

A hard, hard love.

I had accused him of breaking the pride of the House of Fëanor, but in truth, our pride, our completion, had been solely the fact that we were united. Brothers as brothers in arms and brothers of heart.

And there was Nelyo, picking us out of the dust. I had been terrified when he had returned, after picking himself out of the dust, but now I realized, that was alright. It took a different kind of strength to be able to pick yourself up, and Nelyo had it. Oh, he had it.

Perhaps my revere had never really gone stale.

oOoOoOo

Didn't exactly turn out as I hoped but I hope this will suffice. :)

I had a request to time this part after Nirnaeth Arnoediad, but research has recalled that Celegorm had a naughty moment around that time, so the both of them being in the same room after that wouldn't have accomplished anything but quarrel. :)

Thank you all do much for all the wonderful R and R!


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